By The Way
by julyblues
Summary: Santana doesn't like meeting new people and finds it hard to get used to them. So, when she sees that someone new has moved into the house across the street, she's not happy. What she doesn't know is that it could be the best thing to ever happen to her.


_Just thought I'd give this one-shot thing a go._

* * *

**I**

You have never been a people person. That fact isn't even debatable. You rarely ever warm up to people, and if you do, it takes you a hell of a long time.

You find every person around you irritable and worthless. Most of them are just a waste of space that get in your way on the street on your walk to work.

They're all just obstacles in your life.

It was mainly high school that made you this way. You taught yourself not to trust anybody, because people, mostly girls, in high school are completely selfish and bitchy.

(That doesn't exactly mean you were a ray of sunshine before the age of fifteen, but you sure as hell weren't as guarded and weary of people.)

You never found it easy to make friends. That never bothered you though.

You were always taught by your mother that you didn't need friends and that as long as you had yourself and your family, that was enough to keep you happy.

(You had secretly wanted friends for a short while, before you realised your mother had a point.)

For as long as you can remember, you have found it very difficult to get used to non-family members. If you find someone relatively tolerable, it may take up to a few years for you to consider them a friend.

You're just not good with people.

So, early one Tuesday morning when you see a moving truck outside the house across the street, and a ton of boxes outside of said house, you stare at it for a bit, with your brows furrowing and your lips moving silently. You grumble quietly to yourself and snap your curtains shut, shuffling away from the window.

You hate new neighbours. Just when you learn to tolerate the ones you already have, they up and leave without much warning. You had only started being on greeting terms with the Phillips family across the street, and now they've left you.

Like every other person in your life.

(Well, not _every_ person, but most people.)

Without a second thought about it, you lay out your clothes neatly on your bed and make your way into the bathroom.

**II**

It's five thirty in the afternoon. You're standing at the tall window in your office, gazing at the street below you with a paper cup full of lukewarm coffee pressed in between your two palms. The rain is pouring down from the sky, almost as if someone is throwing bucket-fulls of water down onto the street.

The weather is usually like this here. Lima's weather is pretty unpredictable. It could be a day for the beach one day, and the next you're wearing a raincoat and going outside with an umbrella.

A light tap on your shoulder breaks you from your daze. It's your colleague, and closest thing you have to a real friend, Quinn. "Are you walking home?" she asks you.

You turn your head back around so you can stare out the window again. "Have you ever seen me drive to work?"

She just ignores your shortness like she's used to it.

(And she is.)

"Let me bring you back to your place."

You raise an eyebrow to yourself. "Wow, Fabray. We're already on 'ride-giving' terms. Golly, what good news."

Quinn scoffs a bit. "I just don't want you to get caught in that weather."

"How could people sell umbrellas if there wasn't any rain, Fabray?"

There's a pause from behind you. "Those are two things I thought I'd never hear in one sentence; Santana being optimistic, and Santana quoting a musical."

You shrug smugly. "I watched _Calamity Jane_ a lot growing up. Sue me."

You smirk when you hear a long sigh from behind you. "Santana, please. I'm not trying to force my way into your home by just giving you a ride there. It's just, you have no sweater and I don't want you to get pneumonia."

This makes you turn around, slowly. Your eyebrows go further up your forehead, as an amused smile graces your lips ever so slightly. "I think I might allow that then."

Quinn gives you a small smile in return. "Great."

"But only for my health. Not to give you slight hints on our friendship status."

"Of course not."

**III**

The car ride is exactly what you thought it was going to be like; Quinn trying to get personal stuff out of you, and you having none of it.

"Did you grow up in Lima?" she asks, barely giving you a chance to buckle your seatbelt.

"Someone's eager," you snarl, clicking it into the socket angrily.

Quinn turns the keys in the ignition. "Sorry for just being friendly."

"Do you have any clue of who you're talking to?"

She chuckles a bit, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the street. "I know, but you can't blame a girl for trying."

There's a tense silence for a couple of seconds, before you speak up. "Yes."

Quinn looks over at you with a quizzical look on her face. "Yes what?"

"Yes, I grew up here."

She looks like she's processing your answer, before giving you a sly smile. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Well, I thought the answer was fairly obvious." You roll your eyes and break the eye contact with her, deciding to look out the window. "Who in their right mind would _choose _to live here?"

She shrugs a little, keeping her eyes on the road. "You can choose to leave, if you wanted to."

You look at her, a little disbelieving. "No, I can't."

"Why?"

"You're really pushing it now, Fabray."

Quinn huffs. "I'm sorry, I'm just curious, that's all. Why can't you leave? You're a smart woman, and if the size of your house is saying anything, you have a fair bit of cash. What's stopping you from living somewhere you always dreamed of living in?"

This conversation has gotten way too personal for you to deal with, so you just shrug. "Exactly. I have a nice house, a nice sum of money. I'm settled here. Why move?"

"A change might be good for you, Santana."

You shake your head a little. "If you knew me at all, you'd know that I hate change."

Quinn pulls up on the kerb outside your house, and straight away, her head flicks to her right, as she takes note of the boxes and new furniture on the other side of the street. "New neighbour?"

You roll your eyes slightly, opening the car door and stepping out. "Good job at stating the obvious, Fabray."

But Quinn just smiles at you again like she's used to it.

(She still is.)

She's quiet for a bit, and looks like she's thinking, before she speaks.

"You should probably bring a house warming gift to them."

This makes you halt in your actions, half in and half out of the car. "Sorry, repeat that?"

"I said, you should give them something to welcome them to the neighbourhood."

You give her a big snort, your shoulders moving up and down in amusement. "When pigs fly, Quinn."

She just keeps on smiling at you. "And you're very welcome for the ride, Santana."

You mutter a quick thanks to yourself, but you'd never admit it, and take long strides up your driveway, holding the work jacket Quinn lent you over your head as you walk.

She really is a lovely person.

(You'd never admit that, either.)

**IV**

There's no rain today, thank god.

But you decide to bring a jacket, just in case.

You would never tell anybody this, but you have always been afraid to drive.

When people ask, you tell them to _find their own damn business_, but the truth is, even being in the passenger seat freaks you out a little.

You're not scared of much.

(But of course, the one thing you are scared of is something that is a big part of society and daily life.)

You always tried telling yourself that walking everywhere is good for you, and you don't need a car.

But yesterday was sort of a wakeup call for you.

You really need to learn to drive.

With your bag in your hand, and Quinn's coat folded neatly and crammed into it, you shut your front door behind you, before turning around and locking it.

You stroll down your driveway, sneaking glances at the house across the street.

There are still boxes and other things in the driveway.

But today, there are people there.

You watch cautiously as two blonde people, around your age, pick up boxes and bring them in through the front door of the house.

You stand there at your gate as you watch one of them return from inside, a blonde guy whose mouth is way too big for his face, rub his hands together and bend down, picking up another box.

You decide to move on, because you'd rather be bored to death in the office by Rachel fucking Berry, who goes on and on about Barbara Streisand, or whoever the hell she worships, than watch people move a bunch of furniture around.

But, you lock eyes with the next person coming out of the house.

She's tall, blonde, leggy and _gorgeous._

Her hair falls lightly down her back like a golden waterfall, her crystal blue eyes are glimmering in the su-

What?

No.

Distracted by your inner turmoil, it takes you a few seconds to realise that she's still looking back at you.

You look up again and see that she's smiling a little bit, shyly. She gives you a small, friendly wave.

You blink at her for a second, before stuttering to yourself, waving awkwardly back in return and darting down the road.

(You almost break a heel on your way, but you couldn't give a fuck.)

**V**

It's midday.

You're at your desk, inputting sales agent numbers into the computer system when Quinn rolls over to you in her desk chair.

(Of course, with your luck, your little office was placed in a four, with Quinn, Tina, Finn and, to your rage and dismay, Rachel.)

"I'm guessing you don't need a ride home today," she notes, chewing the tip of her pen as she's distracted by something on the floor.

You don't take your eyes off of the screen as you continue to type. "Nope." You pop the 'P' at the end, dragging it out a bit.

"Do you have my jacket?"

Once again, you don't even look at her. You glance down at the list of names right beside your mouse as you click away at it. "Mhmm." You take a split second out of your valuable time to point to your bag, which is sitting at the far end of your desk.

Quinn makes no move to get it yet. "Got anything to say to me?"

You look up at her for a second. "Yeah, I'm trying to work."

(God, you're such a bitch.)

But she just shakes her head with a slight chuckle.

You'll never understand why Quinn is so tolerant of you.

(You're practically begging for her not to like you.)

You hear her click her tongue a bit, and your eyes flick up to see her smile at you. "Anything else?"

You ignore her, your fingers dancing over your keyboard.

Finally, after sitting there for about another five minutes, she gets the hint and scoots her chair back to her desk behind you, after rummaging in your bag to get her coat.

She stays silent for a minute, before swivelling her chair around to face your back. "Have you spoken to your new neighbours yet?"

This makes you turn around, irritated. "What the hell do you want from me?"

"The answer."

You shake your head a little. "No, I haven't. Is that all?"

"You should bake them some of your abuela's special cookies."

You groan in frustration. "Absolutely not."

"It's what I'd do," she tells you matter-of-factly.

You sneer at her slightly, snorting to yourself. "Good for you, Fabray." You motion towards your computer screen. "May I continue making a living please?"

She smiles graciously, gesturing for you to work away.

You turn around, but you get the feeling she's still watching you. You clench your fists and close your eyes, exhaling a little. You think you know what will make her leave you alone. "Thanks for lending me your jacket," you mumble, so quietly that even Rachel Berry, who apparently has flawless hearing, couldn't hear it.

"What was that?"

"Shut up."

**VI**

It's almost seven by the time you get out of the office. Others might complain about having to stay so late, but you actually don't mind; you can work peacefully without Quinn's nagging, Rachel's singing, Finn's loud breathing and Tina's worryingly frequent sobbing.

The sun still won't be setting for another couple of hours, so you take your time on the walk.

You'd never admit it to anyone, but you enjoy looking at the summer scenery.

(Add that to the list of things that you'd never admit to anyone.)

(And, Lima may be a complete shit hole, but it does have some pretty flowers in the summer time.)

As you make your way onto your street, your eyes immediately find your new neighbour's house. Nobody's outside this time, but you can see some movement going on in the house through the windows.

Everything is gone from the front yard.

You walk up your driveway, feeling the fatigue press its weight down heavily on your shoulders.

With a sigh, you take one quick glance behind you at the house directly across the street, and disappear inside your own home.

**VII**

You honestly don't know how you let Quinn get inside your head, but you find yourself at ten o'clock that next Saturday morning, standing on your new neighbour's front steps, with a steaming hot plate of your freshly baked cookies in your hands.

You take a deep breath, and with a clammy hand, you knock on the front door.

(You're pretty sure the sweat on your hand isn't caused by the hot plate you're holding, but you're not really thinking about it.)

You bounce a little on your heels, waiting for the door to be answered.

You wait for another ten seconds.

You reason with yourself that you'd walk away if the door isn't answered in another thirty seconds.

Then you change it to twenty seconds out of fear.

(You always did have an awful habit of running away from your problems.)

You are five seconds away from spinning around and dashing back across the street, when the door in front of you is swung open.

It's the blond guy with the huge lips, who you had secretly nicknamed Trouty Mouth.

"Oh, hey," he says, a little breathlessly. His hair was all tousled and he had an old t-shirt and sweatpants on, all covered in fresh paint.

(Jesus, his mouth is even bigger up close.)

"Hi," you say after a second, soaking in the scene in front of you. "I have cookies. You know, to welcome you to the neighbourhood."

The blond guy smiles, as if something clicked in his mind. "Cool, one second." He twists his body towards the door to his right and calls into the room. "Britt. Visitor."

The first thing you notice in the blonde girl is that she's holding a dripping paint roller. She's wearing a clearly old pair of dungarees, and an old shirt, with splatters of paint all over it.

She's also wearing a wide smile.

"Britt," the blond dude says, breaking you from your thoughts. He points to the pain roller, which is letting the paint drop on the new, cream carpet.

The girl looks down, and her eyes widen. "Shoot!" She rushes into another room, which you guess is the kitchen, and comes out with wet kitchen paper.

You watch with a blank expression as you take in the scene in front of you. She dabs at it for a second before springing back up to her full height, her grin plastered back on her face. "Good as new." She looks back at you. "Hi."

"Hi," you reply, the nerves kicking in again.

She's just looking at you, clearly waiting for you to say something, so you shake your head to clear the cobwebs. "Um, I'm Santana," you blurt. "I live across the street."

The blonde just makes a happy sound of recognition, smiles wider and nods for you to continue.

You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly.

(You're really no good at this.)

"So, I baked you some cookies to welcome you guys to the neighbourhood."

You didn't know it was possible, but she actually smiles wider. She takes the cookies from you and gives them to Trouts, who huffs and takes them into another room. "That's so sweet." She sticks her hand out for you to take, and you do.

Your brain switches off and you start to think about how soft her palm is.

Then you see her lips move and you blink rapidly. "Sorry, what was that?"

She giggles, and you feel all floaty. "I said that my name's Brittany."

"I'm Santana," you tell her.

Brittany laughs again and the floatiness you previously felt turns to light headedness. "You already said that."

You feel your cheeks heat up and you look down at the pavement.

When Trouty returns, she points at him. "This is Sam, my brother," she continues. "He isn't living here with me, he's just helping me move all my stuff over."

Trouty, or Sam, smiles at you, and holds out his hand.

(Holy shit, just when you thought his mouth couldn't get any bigger.)

You smile weakly and take his hand in yours, shaking it politely.

You had presumed subconsciously he was her boyfriend.

(The fact that he isn't makes you happier than you should be.)

"Well," Brittany starts, leaning against the door frame and folding her arms. "I didn't know if I'd get a chance to ask you, but now that I have one, I was wondering if you'd like to come to my house warming party tonight. You can bring a plus one, so, like your boyfriend or something can come."

Your comment of not being the party type gets wedged in your throat once she says that. "I don't have a boyfriend," you croak out.

She just smiles again. "Well, you can bring a friend then."

You don't know what to do but to nod dumbly. You try to decline, you really do, but no words will come out, anyway.

So, you figure you can just suck it up for one night and go to the damn party.

This is the most painful situation you've ever been in, and you've had your fair share of fights in high school.

She must think you're socially challenged.

(Which you're not.)

(You actually have no idea what is happening right now.)

"What time?" you ask, holding your arms behind your back to create a distraction.

Brittany shrugs. "Any time between eight and nine is okay."

"Perfect," you smile, managing to talk to her like a normal human being for once since you've met her. "I'll see you tonight."

She smiles and waves at you as you head across the street.

Once you make it inside, you shut the door behind you and press your back up against it, taking a long, deep breath before closing your eyes.

You haven't got a fucking clue about what you're going to wear.

**VIII**

"_Well, what a pleasant surprise._"

You roll your eyes as far back as you can, and press the phone closer to your ear. "Shut your mouth Fabray and listen to what I have to say."

You hear a small chuckle on the other end. "_I'm all ears._"

"So," you start, trying to put this in a way that won't make you sound like a nice person. "I may have done what you suggested and brought the new neighbour a plate of home baked cookies."

"_Are you serious? Awh, Santana!_"

Damn it.

You glare at nothing in particular, trying to stop yourself from yelling down the phone. "Do you want to hear my piece or not, Fabray?"

"_Okay, you're right_," she says. "_I'll keep quiet._"

You sigh a little. "Anyway, when I was over there she invited me to her house warming party and I felt horrible saying no so I decided to say yes. She said I could bring a plus one, so I thought, you know, you'd be pretty upset if I didn't ask _you_, so I am."

There's silence from the other end.

"Quinn? Are you still there?"

"_Yeah_."

You frown. "Well, what do you say?"

There's another pause, before Quinn speaks. "_Well, first off, I have a number of questions._"

You consider shouting and making her answer your question first, but then you remember that she's doing you a favour here, so you keep it bottled up. "Yes?"

"_You said 'she'. She's living alone? No husband? Boyfriend? Kids?"_

"Well, she was there with her brother, but I don't know if she has a boyfriend, and I highly doubt that she has children, but she told me that she's living there alone."

"_In that big house?_"

"I'm living alone in my big house," you point out.

You can hear the smirk through Quinn's voice. "_Yes, but that's only because you're-_"

"Moving on," you announce loudly. "Question two?"

"_You usually don't give a damn whether you're being horrible or not, so why did you have a problem saying no to her?_"

You groan a bit, collapsing down on your sofa. "Yeah, but she was looking at me with those eyes. You know, _those_ eyes?"

"_I do not._"

You really don't feel like telling her that you didn't say no because you quite literally couldn't talk at that point.

"Well, I felt entitled to say okay." You sigh a bit, inspecting your nails on your left hand. This conversation is causing you too much stress. "Let's just cut to the chase; will you come with me or not?"

You hear Quinn hesitate. "_Will there be alcohol?_"

"I presume so," you say, frowning. You sit up against the couch, your shoulder blades resting against the cushion. "Why?"

"_I'll need it if I'm going to be spending the whole evening with you._"

**IX**

It's seven forty-five when you finally hear your doorbell ring. You storm over and open it, giving Quinn a death glare. "You took your damn time, Fabray."

"Relax, Santana," she says, stepping inside your house. "We have all the time in the world."

Your eyes bulge out of your head as you lead her upstairs. "She said to arrive between eight and nine. That means I have to pick out an outfit and get ready in," you glance down at your watch, "fifteen minutes."

There's a brief silence, before Quinn bursts out laughing, collapsing against the wall of your bedroom. "You clearly don't get out a lot, Santana."

"What is that supposed to mean?" you bark, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards your bed.

When her giggles die down a bit, Quinn manages to look you in the eye. "If someone tells you to arrive between certain times, you don't arrive at the earliest time they give. Seriously, what is wrong with you?"

"I don't know," you shrug, sighing a bit as you sit on the edge of your bed. "I guess I want to make a good first impression."

Quinn gasps a little, smirking. "I honestly never thought I'd ever hear you utter those words."

You cross your arms defensively. "I'm gonna have to live opposite this woman for possibly the rest of my life. I sort of want to come across as a decent human being. I wouldn't like to live near a complete asshole, so I want her to think that I'm somewhat nice." You know that you're rambling, so you decide to end it there.

"That's… oddly big of you, Santana."

"Yeah, well," you start, your face feeling hot. "Don't get used to it."

She just smiles at you softly like you're a good person.

(Which you're not.)

"Anyway," she breathes, standing up and heading towards your closet. "Let's get back to the problem at hand." She opens the doors of it and roots through all of your clothes.

You make your way over and push her out of the way. "Easy, Fabray. Just because I asked for your advice doesn't mean you have permission to go through all of my stuff."

She just ignores you like your bite means nothing.

(Maybe it does.)

"God," she says, flicking through all of the clothes you have hanging up. "Do you only own work clothes?"

"Yes, unless you want to look at the clothes I owned in high school." You shrug casually and take a seat back on your bed.

Quinn turns around and folds her arms. "I might just take you up on that."

**X**

Even though you wore this exact outfit during your sophomore year, your body has changed a lot since then.

So, you can't help but feel a little stupid as you stand on Brittany's front step alongside Quinn, in a pair of extremely tight black skinny jeans, and a white lace top that was once well fitting, but is now clinging to your torso and making you feel like you can't breathe.

Before she rings the doorbell, Quinn turns to you. "Was there any particular reason why you asked for my help with your outfit?"

"I should think the answer to that question is obvious," you say, rolling your eyes. "Clearly I have no clue about what is appropriate to wear to these things and what isn't."

Quinn smirks a bit. "But you strike me as the type of person who w-"

"Wouldn't care, I know."

There's silence, and Quinn rings the doorbell. "It's her brother, isn't it?"

You freeze, and choke on nothing in particular, letting out a loud cough. "Pardon?"

"She has a cute brother and you're trying to impress him." The smirk growing on her face is irritating you.

Nonetheless, her statement made you feel a mixture of relief and annoyance.

(You don't know which one you felt more, though.)

You figure you should change the subject, as this subject is a dangerous one to be part of.

(You really don't want to go into why you wouldn't be attracted to your new neighbour's brother.)

(You may accidentally tell her your _secret_.)

What you're about to say gets lodged in your throat when the door opens and Brittany greets you both with a warm smile. "Santana!" she greets, leaning over and pulling you into a quick hug.

(You were never a hugger, but that doesn't exactly mean you can't enjoy hugs.)

(And you certainly enjoy this one.)

Too soon, she's letting you go, and she looks over at Quinn with slight curiosity, titling her head to one side. "And you're Santana's friend."

"Quinn Fabray," she replies, smiling back at her and sticking her hand out.

After they shake hands, you're pulled back into reality when you see Brittany's eyes flicker from you to Quinn. Then, she grabs your hand and yanks you into the house. "I've got to introduce to you guys to everyone."

You just follow her idly.

(If you had the time, you'd wonder why she only grabbed your hand and not Quinn's.)

(After all, you only met her earlier that day.)

**XI**

Most of the people leave at around two or three in the morning. You, being the idiot you are, thought it was good idea to volunteer to stay back and clean up for a bit.

You really don't need to be alone with Brittany.

(You might say something weird and give her more reasons to believe you're socially challenged.)

But, overall, you had a pretty nice time. Brittany's friends and family are as friendly as she is.

Quinn wasn't a bad plus one, either.

(And a rather amusing drunk.)

And although you're not a good person, you figured that you can't let her drive home in the state she's in, and you don't drive, so you let her crash on the couch at your place.

So, as you stack used plastic cups and put them in the trash, you feel a comfortable silence wash over you and Brittany.

(Which is odd, since you never feel comfortable around anyone, let alone someone you just met.)

"Did you have a good time?" you hear from behind you.

You whip around and see Brittany smiling softly at you as she sweeps her kitchen floor, pushing all the bits of food into one of the corners.

"I did," you admit. "You know a lot of great people."

She doesn't reply. Instead, she backs herself up against the kitchen island and pulls herself up so she's sitting on it. "Tell me something about yourself, Santana."

You pause and raise an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Anything." That wide smile is back on her face.

You shrug a bit. "I'm scared of driving."

She frowns. "Why?"

"I don't know," you sigh. "I just never learned how to, and now I don't think I ever will."

Brittany thinks for a second, before beaming at you. "I'll teach you."

You let out a big laugh, before looking back at her face and realising she's serious.

"Tell me something else," she says, brushing some crumbs off of the kitchen island.

You shrug a bit. "Um, I go running a lot, I guess," you say tentatively.

"Really?" Brittany asks, studying your face. "Me too, we should do it together sometime."

You can't say no when she's grinning at you like you already said yes. "Okay."

"When do you run?"

"Usually when I get home from work. Sometimes in the morning before work."

Brittany's eyes widen. "Every day?"

You nod, chewing on your lower lip as you pull out a chair from the dining table and twist it around so you can sit facing her.

"You must be super fit, then."

That comment takes you off guard, and you squirm a bit, scoffing slightly to hide the heat growing in your cheeks. "Hardly." A silence comes over you again, and you decide to start the conversation this time. "What do you do?"

"I dance," the blonde in front of you says proudly. "I teach it to kids in that dance studio down the street."

You nod your head slowly in recognition. "I should have guessed that you were a dancer."

Brittany smiles again. "Why?"

"You have a tattoo of someone doing an 'L' kick on your shoulder." You point to her arm.

She just laughs. "That's the signature kick from _West Side Story_, silly. That doesn't mean I'm a dancer."

The both of you laugh loudly, and for a second you forget that you haven't known this woman for even twenty four hours.

It feels like it's been longer.

(But you'd never admit it.)

**XII**

You don't see Brittany for a while after her house warming party.

It's the next Sunday, so you haven't seen her for a week and one day.

You're not avoiding her; you just haven't bumped into each other yet.

You reckon that it's normal; you didn't really see the Phillips family unless you were both going out or coming home at the same time.

That only really happened once or twice a month.

(You sort of wished to see Brittany more than that.)

You don't know what you want to pursue with her though; you highly doubt if she's into girls, and a friendship with her wouldn't suit you at all.

(In fact, a friendship with her might just kill you.)

(And as far as the liking girls theory goes, her eyes did linger on your chest for a bit at her party, but come on; your boobs were practically jumping out of that shirt.)

(You decide not to overthink that, though.)

You're sitting on your couch that night with a bowl of Doritos and a glass of red wine, when you hear your doorbell ring.

Annoyed, and wondering who could be calling at your house at this hour, you get up and reluctantly drag yourself over to the door, and open it.

Standing on the other side of it is Brittany.

"Hi," she says sweetly.

You wave awkwardly. "Hello."

God, you're a useless human being.

"I've just come to give you back this." It's the plate you gave her the cookies on. It's been washed and she's holding it out for you to take, so you do.

You laugh shyly. "You really didn't have to give this back. I've honestly forgotten about it."

"No," she replies, waving you off. "I would have felt bad if I didn't give it back."

You don't know what to say, really, so you just stand there in a silence.

(It's really killing you that you're this awkward.)

(Maybe you_ are_ socially challenged.)

You gesture awkwardly to your living room door. "Um, would you like to come in? I'm watching a movie. I have Doritos and wine so…" You trail off, inwardly cringing at how weird you must sound.

But Brittany smiles at you anyway like she doesn't notice. "No thanks, I actually have my mom and dad over tonight for dinner."

You nod slowly.

She's not finished. "Still, though, thanks for the offer. I might take you up on that sometime."

You nod again.

You've never felt more stupid in your whole life.

She hooks her finger backwards so she's pointing towards her house. "I better get back. I'll see you around." Just as she turns around, she winks at you. She then walks across the street to her house without looking back.

You shut the door in a daze.

(Yeah, you're definitely socially challenged.)

**XIII**

And suddenly, just like that, for the next couple of weeks you and Brittany just keep bumping into each other, pretty much every single day.

You're friendly to each other, and you're acting like proper acquaintances.

(Which is odd for you, because the only acquaintances you have are the ones you've been working with for all of your adult life.)

Each morning when you set off for work, Brittany is either putting stuff in her trashcan, or getting letters from her mailbox.

And each time, she spots you, makes eye contact with you, and beams, giving you one huge wave.

You are all too willing to smile back, and greet her.

When you get back from work, she's either watering the flowers she planted the second day she arrived, or she's simply sitting back on the grass, enjoying the summer sun.

She'll shout a hello over to you, and she'll ask how work was.

You'll smile at her and tell her it was decent.

Then, you'll walk up your driveway and go inside, after throwing a quick wave and a goodbye over your shoulder.

(You find that you've been smiling more often, recently.)

This is very strange for you.

Not only are you being nice to someone, but you are being nice to practically a complete _stranger_.

(Although, you still count some of the people you've worked with since you joined the company strangers.)

(So, the fact that you helped her clean up her kitchen after a five hour party doesn't mean you consider her a friend.)

All the while, as much as _you _are finding it weird that you're being friendly to your new neighbour, there is no way in hell Quinn is ever going to find out about it.

You'd never hear the end of it.

(And then she might just figure out your secret.)

**XIV**

One Saturday morning, after a night of little sleep and lots of alcohol, you are awoken by a very loud banging on your front door.

You groan, and roll over to the nightstand to check the time on your phone.

It's eight twenty two.

You grumble as you stagger out of bed, and you make your way down the stairs and to your front door, prepared to give whoever was on the other side of it a piece of your mind.

You open it, about to bark at the person you were facing, but you stop yourself when you see who it is.

"Hey, Santana," Brittany greets, giving you that wide grin you're so used to seeing. She's wearing a t-shirt, running shorts (_sweet Jesus_), and sneakers. She's holding her iPod in her hand, the earphones in her ears.

You take in her appearance as she's jogging slightly on the spot. "Ugh," you croak, shielding the sun from your eyes with one hand as you rub your cheek with the other. "Good morning."

"Are you ready?" she asks, still bringing her knees up to her stomach and down.

Does this girl ever take a break?

"For what?" you ask dumbly.

She just laughs. "We're going running together, silly."

You're rendered speechless.

(Although, that may just be because you're exhausted.)

"Brittany…" you start, running a hand through your tangled hair. "I just woke up, I'm exhausted, I'm hung over, and I only got, like four hours of sleep. I'm not in the best position to be running right now. Maybe some other time?"

But she just rolls her eyes and steps into your house, and continues jogging on the spot in your hallway. "Come on, Santana. It'll be fun. I'll keep you awake by asking you some _Simpsons_ trivia."

(Yes, in a moment of drunken weakness a little while ago, you admitted to her that you love _The Simpsons_.)

Still, you smile at her with all the politeness you can muster after just waking up, and put your hand on her back, pushing her lightly towards the door. "Sorry. I'll go jogging with you in a few hours, okay? Just come and get me at like, two, and we'll go for a run then."

But Brittany is having none of it, and is already bounding up your stairs. You trudge after her slowly and find her flinging open your closet doors, and pulling out some shorts and your sneakers. "Come on," she begs, holding them towards you. "We'll have fun."

You cannot believe this woman.

You grumble a bit to yourself, and before you know it you're wearing the shorts and sneakers, and you're already sauntering down the road with Brittany, trying to keep up with her quick pace.

(You're usually better at this but, come on, you've just woken up.)

"You're doing great, Santana," she smiles, still managing to sound normal after jogging for about three minutes.

You just gasp in response and try not to keel over in exhaustion.

She's not done talking, though. "Ready to start?"

You hope what you're about to begin isn't some sort of exercise she made up, where you do crunches while jogging, or something.

(You think you might do it for her, though.)

"What were the names of Marge's two sisters?"

This makes your head jerk backwards in surprise. "Sorry, what?"

"Wrong," she smirks, glancing at you from the side. "It's Patty and Selma, actually."

You just blink at her, so she laughs.

"Simpsons trivia, silly."

You give her a small chuckle, as you desperately try and match her speed. "Seriously, Brittany, I'm not in the right state of mind to think back to a show I haven't watched in years."

She stops, and you're grateful for a second. But before you can put your hands on your knees and double over, she pouts at you.

Jesus Christ.

"No," you say, as firmly as you can. "Brittany, no."

But she doesn't give up. "Please, San."

The nickname really throws you off.

(Nobody has ever called you anything other than your actual name before.)

(With the exception of your mother, father and abuela.)

You throw your hands up in the air, accepting defeat. "Ugh, fine."

Brittany's face lights up briefly. Then, her mouth turns upwards into an evil smirk, and before you can say anything, she's already off. "Race to you the top of the street," she calls back, playfully.

You sigh fondly and begin your trek up the road.

She really is going to kill you one day.

(And you actually think you'd be okay with that.)

**XV**

You're on your way to work bright and early, when Brittany opens her front door, yawning.

You wave over at her. "Morning."

She looks up and sees you smiling at her. "Good morning, Santana."

"Any plans for today?"

She shrugs cutely. "Not much, just job hunting and making dinner for myself." She hesitates for a second, looking down at her shoes, before looking back up at you. "I'm making spaghetti later, if you want to come over and have some with me?"

You're a little dumbfounded. "I don't want to impose."

But she just laughs. "Yeah, because I have so much to do."

You don't know what to do so you just blush and stand there, looking stupid.

"So, seven?" Brittany asks, raising an eyebrow.

You nod firmly. "Seven."

Brittany just smiles and turns around, steps inside her house and shuts the door.

Well, shit.

**XVI**

The second you get home from work, you race up your stairs and start looking through your closet for something casual to wear.

You really don't want to have to resort back to your high school clothes.

And you really don't want to call Quinn again.

(She might get the idea that you value her friendship or something.)

**XVII**

You manage to get through dinner and conversation with Brittany without too much breathing trouble.

She is as adorable and chatty as ever.

You try to keep up with it, but the minute one conversation was over, she picks it up again with another one.

(You think of her as an excitable Chihuahua.)

(You'd never admit that to anyone, though.)

You and her are sitting on her new couch, with your dinner plates in your hands. The TV is on in the background and you're just letting your stomach settle.

This is the most comfortable silence you've ever been in.

"So." You look over and see Brittany putting her plate down on the coffee table in front of you. She smiles warmly and settles back into the couch. "Can I ask you a question, Santana?"

You nod. "Sure, Britt."

"Why don't you have a boyfriend?"

The question catches you off guard. You recoil a bit in your seat. "Um, well, I guess I-"

The dancer suddenly cuts you off. "You know what? You don't have to answer that." She laughs nervously and runs a hand through her hair. "I have no filter when it comes to my curiosity. Stupid, stupid, stupid."

"No!" you almost yell. You don't like her putting herself down just for one tiny question. You don't like the nervously sad look on her face.

(You want her to be happy all the time.)

She's looking at you startled, so you make sure to control the pitch and volume of your voice this time. "It was just a question, Brittany. It's okay."

"You don't have to answer it though," she reminds you softly.

"Well, I'll answer it anyway." You suck in a deep breath. "I don't like boys."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Oh?"

You shrug a bit, not fazed by her genuine surprise. "Yeah. I like girls."

Silence.

After what feels like an eternity, Brittany's face splits into a giant grin. "Okay. Cool."

You exhale, letting out a nervous breath you didn't know you were holding.

You weren't exactly expecting her to throw you out of her house, but you didn't think she'd be _this _happy.

(Brittany loves everyone no matter what, so it seems.)

(And, you're a gigantic bitch and she still manages to like you.)

(Well, likes you enough to invite you over for dinner, anyway.)

"Okay?" you ask, looking for reassurance.

She nods, smiling. "Yeah. I mean, I didn't know, but it's cool. I like girls too."

Your head snaps up. "You do?"

Your pace of your breathing quickens in excitement.

"Yeah," she grins. "And boys, too. I don't discriminate by gender. I just love _people_."

You let out a relived sigh.

(And also an ecstatic sigh.)

Brittany likes girls.

You should have guessed that she doesn't care about gender. She seems like the type of person who could fall in love with anybody.

(She's just magical like that.)

You enjoy the rest of your evening with her. It's quiet, and you talk about nothing and everything.

(But the words '_you have a chance_' keep swirling around in your head.)

(And they don't seem to stop.)

**XVIII**

Ever since that night, you and Brittany have been hanging out constantly.

She's your first real, proper friend.

And you don't think she's going to be leaving you any time soon.

(You're so happy.)

But also, you're scared.

You're a terrible person and you know it. The last thing you deserve is someone like Brittany making your life amazing.

(And the last thing Brittany deserves is someone like you making her life appalling.)

Half of the time, you want to be her friend and enjoy spending time with her, and the other half you want to save her from being hurt by you.

You really can't help it.

On the next Monday night, she calls into your house with some of her own home baked cookies.

"I know you baked me some as a gift," she tells you. "But they were just too good to not repay you."

You smile humbly and accept the cookies, inviting her in.

On the Tuesday night, she invites you over to her house for some wine and board games.

"The great thing about Monopoly," she says matter-of-factly, "is that you pay, like, ten dollars to buy the game, but you can be a millionaire _during _the game."

You're not sure you understand her logic, but you laugh anyway and throw the dice.

On the Wednesday night, she asks you if you want to go see a movie with her.

Halfway through the movie, she starts telling you what's about to happen next.

"You've seen this already?" you question, throwing some popcorn into your mouth.

She nods. "Yeah, with Sam. He loves these superhero action movies."

You raise an amused eyebrow at her. "Then why did you bring me to it?"

She just giggles quietly. "Because _you _haven't seen it, silly." That's good enough for her. Like it's the most simple thing in the world.

(Maybe it is.)

On the Thursday night, you go over to her house and she teaches you how to bake her mom's special cookies.

"The trick is to put in three times the amount of sugar than it says in the recipe," she explains, dumping in the whole bag.

You chuckle, leaning down so you can read the instructions on the piece of paper in front of you. "That's not wise, B. It's a recipe for a reason."

"Well," she shrugs, grabbing a wooden spoon. "I find them confusing, so…"

On the Friday night, you're exhausted after a long day at work being annoyed to death by Rachel Berry, so you just stay at home.

But, Brittany makes sure she calls you before bed.

A phone conversation that is meant to only be five minutes long turns out to be five hours long.

On Saturday, she turns up at your door at ten in the morning with her car keys in her hand and an excited smile on her face.

Before you know it, you're in the driver seat of her car, with her in the passenger's seat.

Your heart feels like it's going to jump into your mouth.

She's giving you instructions but you can't hear her over the sound of blood rushing past your ears.

You feel like you should do something to make it look like you've been listening so you slam your foot onto one of the pedals and you jolt forward, crashing straight into her mailbox.

There's silence, and you're expecting Brittany to be annoyed at you for running over her mail, but she bursts out laughing, throwing an arm onto your back, and pulling you in close to her. "Oh my god," she howls, tears in her eyes.

You feel like you should be embarrassed but you're not, and you giggle along with her.

She makes you feel so wonderful.

(You'd never tell her that.)

**XIX**

Disaster strikes next Saturday night when you are feeling particularly low about your relationship with Brittany.

You often feel like this.

She's way too good to even consider being your friend.

You feel like you're poisoning her in a way.

(And you'd put her well-being over yours any day.)

You have been ignoring her all day. She calls your phone seven times.

You don't answer.

She texts you twelve times to make sure you are alright.

You don't reply.

So, you weren't too surprised when you heard your front door opening at six that evening, along with Brittany calling your name.

You hear her footsteps on the stairs before she enters your bedroom, and when she does, you pull your duvet over your head, trying to hide.

She's seen you.

"Santana?" she asks, making her way over to the bed and sitting down beside you on it. You feel the bed dip down with her weight.

You don't make a sound. You shuffle a bit to let her know you're there.

She doesn't say anything for a bit. "Are you alright?"

You don't move.

"Have you been avoiding me?" You hear the hurt laced in her words.

Once again, you don't say anything.

"Santana?"

You try to keep very still.

You feel her stand up as the bed springs up on one side.

"I-I don't understand."

Oh no.

She's crying.

You made her cry, you _asshole_.

You push the duvet off your head and look up to see her standing beside your bed, her arms hanging limply, her face red with emotion, her eyes watering.

"Please don't cry, B," you say weakly, but she jumps in.

"Why are you doing this?" she asks, a tear rolling down her cheek. "I thought we were friends."

You sigh, heartbroken. "We are. It's just, you're way too good to be my friend."

She looks at you incredulously, her mouth hanging open. "How could you even _say _that, Santana?"

You stand up so you can try and match her height. "I'm a horrible person, Brittany." You're crying now, too. You're getting defensive and you can feel the heat rush up and down your body.

You can't help it.

Your defensive walls go up and you turn into the world's biggest bitch.

(Even to Brittany.)

"I'm just going to hurt you eventually." You look down, shame and self-pity written all over your face. "You don't deserve someone like me in your life."

She just narrows her eyes at you. "Actually, I think someone like me is exactly what _you_ need."

"But it's not what you need," you shoot back bitterly.

You close your eyes as a long pause takes over, before Brittany exhales loudly. "God," she says, looking away from you. She takes a huge deep breath, one that you note as a nervous one, before looking back at you. "Are you _ever_ going to ask me out?"

Your eyes spring open.

What?

Sorry, _what_?

You look at her quizzically, so she continues. "I've practically been hinting for you to ask me out for the past couple of weeks, Santana." She almost sounds annoyed at your ignorance.

Bur you can tell that she's mainly saddened by it.

(You can always tell what she's thinking.)

"You have?"

She nods, looking deflated. "Are you actually that blind? I've been trying to tell you how much I like you and you never saw me there." Her shoulders slump in defeat. "I always felt invisible when I tried to tell you. You never took notice. Before we started properly hanging out, I used to make sure I was in my yard doing something so that I could talk to you when you came out of the house. I thought I was being obvious." She tears her eyes away from yours sadly.

Well, fuck.

You don't really know what to say, so you mutter the one thing that comes into your head. "Sorry."

She doesn't say anything, so you look up and start rambling. "Sorry. I've never been very good at figuring out what people thought of me. I thought you were just hanging out with me because you felt sorry for me."

Her eyebrows knit together. "Felt sorry for you? Why would I?"

You sniff, feeling the tears coming back.

You can't believe she likes you.

"Nobody has ever…" You take a deep breath. "Nobody has truly wanted to be my friend before I met you."

That makes Brittany's face soften. She sits down beside you on the bed slowly and puts her hand on your back, rubbing it back and forth soothingly. "I'm sure that's not true."

"It is," you tell her, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

You start crying properly again so Brittany pulls you down gently so your head is resting on her lap. "Shhh," she hushes, still rubbing your back. She pauses in her actions and looks down at you, a serious look on her face. "Do you want to know why I wanted to be friends with you, Santana?"

You nod, closing your eyes slowly.

"Because I could tell under the hard exterior you have, that you are an amazing person. You may have been snappy with other people, but you never have been with me. You may think I never noticed that, but I certainly have. You've been so kind and nice to me, spent time with me and played stupid games with me. I could tell you were never really into them, but you just put on a smile and did it. Just for me."

You laugh, emotions whizzing all around your head. "I'm _that_ bad of an actress, huh?"

She smirks down at you. "Oh, yeah." She clears her throat. "But the fact that you did it for me meant you _cared_. How could I not want to date you after you've been so nice to me? You've always been amazing to me." She pauses, and a shy look grows on her face. "Plus, you're hot as hell."

You chuckle and shift so you're lying on your back, looking straight up into Brittany's eyes. "That means so much coming from you, Britt."

She gives you a small, thin-lipped smile. "Any time."

You're plunged into a deep silence.

You close your eyes for a few seconds, and then open them with a large grin over your face. "Britt?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you go on a date with me?"

**XX**

You're at your office desk, chewing on the top of a pen, ignoring the fact that Tina is crying at her desk and trying to think about anything but the nerves that are flying around in your stomach.

Tonight is your date with Brittany.

You know her so well at this stage, and you feel comfortable around her, but you really don't want to fuck this up. She told you there's no way you can mess it up.

(It doesn't stop you from worrying, though.)

You don't think it's going to go badly; it will probably be the same as every other time you've hung out with her.

(Does that make all of the times you've hung out with her a date?)

You make a decision and spin around in your desk chair. "Quinn?"

She turns around to face you with an eyebrow raised. "Yes?"

"I, um..." You scratch the back of your neck nervously. "Could you come back to mine after work today? I need your help with something."

Quinn's eyes widen, and her eyebrows shoot up. "Oh, sure. Will I give you a ride back?"

You just nod wordlessly and spin around to face your desk.

**XXI**

"Why do you need my help anyway?" Quinn's voice echoes as her head is stuck in the middle of your closet. "Where are you going tonight?"

You don't know if you should tell her the truth, simply not answer, or act defensive and scare her off.

You go with defensive.

"None of your damn business," you snap, leaning against your bedroom door grumpily.

But you're not grumpy.

(You're just really, _really _fucking nervous.)

Quinn is having none of it, though. She turns around with an annoyed look on her face. "Santana, _you _requested _my _help. I'm not asking for a big long essay on what your plans are, I'm just curious, that's all." She gives you a small, sad shrug.

Damn it.

You decide to just suck it up and tell her.

You really have gotten soft.

(Brittany must be rubbing off on you.)

(But that's not a bad thing, you decide.)

"I have a date," you tell her, sighing.

Her face lights up immediately, and she bunches up the shirt she has in her hands in excitement. "Really? With who? Your new neighbour's brother? I just _knew _you had a thing for him since you but in such an effort going to that party."

Your shoulders slump.

You should have known.

"No," you say, slowly and carefully. "Not Sam."

Quinn just looks at you for you to continue.

"It's with the new neighbour, actually," you say, waiting for her reacting.

Her eyes go wide a little, but aside from that, nothing else on her face changes. "With Brittany? You're gay?"

You nod hesitantly, smiling a little to yourself.

"You…" Quinn still looks dumbfounded. "You're gay." It comes out as a statement this time.

You roll your eyes a little, because how more fucking obvious can it be, going on a date with a _girl_.

Quinn just thinks for a second, before spinning around to face your closet, flicking her way through the clothes on the hangers.

You're smiling though, because you're pretty sure you just heard the words _should have known_ muttered from inside the closet.

**XXII**

Thanks to Quinn, you're dressed very well for your date with Brittany.

She also made you bring some flowers for the occasion.

(You weren't going to admit it, but you were going to do it anyway.)

You walk up the path to her house with your flowers in hand, nervous as hell, and, after hesitating slightly, you knock on her door.

You hear the words _just a second _being shouted from inside the house, and you smile fondly, ducking your head and inspecting your flowers.

The door opens and you take in the sight of Brittany Pierce. The woman who can make sweats and track pants look sexy is standing in front of you, with a flowy blue dress on, light make up and studded earrings.

(You think you're going to faint.)

Your comment about her looking beautiful gets lodged in your throat when she smiles at you shyly. "Are these for me?" she asks, pointing to the flowers.

You nod wordlessly, and practically shove them towards her chest.

(Oh god.)

(You wonder if you can sprint home and away from her in these heels.)

But she just laughs like the perfect little angel she is, and moves out of the way of the door so you can enter. "Come in," she smiles. "The lasagne is nearly ready." She does a quick sweep of you with her eyes, and leans against the railings of her stairs. "You look very beautiful, Santana," she says, blushing a little bit.

(So _cute_.)

"You too, Britt," so reply, clearing your throat and suddenly finding your voice. "So beautiful."

She just looks down shyly, and smiles. She mutters something about finding a vase before excusing herself to her bedroom, telling you to take a seat in the living room.

You try to straighten out your dress and ignore the intense nerves you are feeling to appreciate the _Brittany_ness of the room.

She has done some decorating since the last time you've been there.

You think every single colour that exists must be in this room, and usually you would think it's incredibly tacky.

(But Brittany can make anything seem magical.)

You're appreciating the little unicorn painting, that wasn't there last time you were at Brittany's house, with the initials D.P. at the end, when the smell of smoke interrupts your exploring.

The second thing that interrupts you is the smoke alarm.

"Um, Britt," you say loudly, hoping she'll hear it.

The next thing you hear is Brittany repeatedly saying '_oh shit, oh shit_,' and the sound of heels rushing to the kitchen, and you laugh to yourself.

(She's never quite what you expect.)

**XXIII**

"I didn't know they had a pizza place _this good_ so close to here," you say through a mouthful of pepperoni.

Brittany laughs over the movie playing on the TV in the background, wiping a bit of tomato sauce away from her lip with a napkin. "Shame on you Santana. You've been living here much longer than I have."

You return her giggle with your own. "But you're so much more social than I am. It makes sense that you know more about the area than I do."

Something in the room catches your eye, and you point up towards the unicorn painting. "Where did you get that?"

She follows your finger, and looks back at you. "The painting?"

"Yeah," you nod, biting into another slice. "It's so… _you, _I guess."

Brittany blushes a little. "My mom painted it. She's an artist."

"So the D.P. stands for…"

"Deborah Pierce," Brittany finishes, grinning at you.

You smile back. "She's very good."

"I know." Brittany throws down a bit of her crust, and collapses back in the couch, covering her stomach with her hands. "So full," she comments. Her eyes flicker up to you. "I'm sorry I ruined our date and we had to get pizza."

You snort dismissively. "Britt, you didn't ruin _anything_. I'm having the best time." You grab her hand.

She beams at you. "Really?"

"Absolutely," you reply, nodding firmly. "You could have brought me grocery shopping as our date and I would have loved it. Because I'd be with _you_."

You're a little startled with yourself.

(You have no idea when you became this sappy.)

But Brittany doesn't seem surprised at all, and she scoots up towards you on the couch a little.

"_You_," she says, her voice strong and confident, like she's about to say the most important thing in the word. "Are the sweetest person I've ever met, Santana Lopez."

You give her a tiny scoff. "I don't think _sweet_ is a good word to describe me Bri-"

But you don't get to finish your sentence.

Because she's kissing you.

She's kissing you and taking your bottom lip into her mouth and you can't breathe. She sucks on it a little and your eyes roll back in your head, for once not with sarcasm or annoyance.

With _feeling_.

You are feeling so many things right now, and you don't know how to say them, so instead you show her by cupping her cheek and pulling her closer to you, and slowly and gently, pushing your tongue into her mouth.

Her hand grips your shoulder harder when you do that, and you feel her pant a little against your mouth as you switch the kiss.

You smile as you kiss and kiss, moving your hand down and you grab the back of her neck, bringing her impossibly close to you.

You take a break for air, but you keep smiling at each other, her hand still on your shoulder.

"You, Brittany Pierce," you say, a little out of breath. "Are full of pleasant surprises."

She just smirks at you and pounces forward, giggling and reconnecting your lips.

**XXIV**

Brittany flings open the door to her bedroom and pulls you in with her.

You're both giggling and not for a second do you think that you're moving too quickly in this relationship.

(Brittany seems like she can make anything work at any pace.)

(And you'd gladly try and keep up with her.)

She gently pushes your shoulders so you fall back on the bed. She smiles, looking at you with such adoration in her eyes that it makes your stomach feel like it's rising up slowly and then dropping down, like a roller-coaster. You bring your hand up to her face, feeling the warmth radiating off her skin. You _want _her.

She gently lowers herself and you feel your breathing getting more laboured as she gets closer and closer to you. "Hi," she purrs, rubbing your noses together affectionately.

(She makes you so happy.)

"Hey there." You peck her lips and smile at her, love shining through your eyes. You feel the need to say something intimate, so you do. "I really want to savour this moment with you." You start pulling the duvet over you both while fiddling with the zip on her dress.

Brittany just smiles softly, like she knew you were going to say that. "Mhmm, that's good," she whispers, her lips hovering above yours. "Because we have all the time in the world."

She connects your mouths as you fully undo the zip on her dress.

**XXV**

You stroll up to your desk the next morning with your coffee in your hand, and plant yourself in your seat.

You spin around and look at the other people you are working with; Rachel is on the phone to a client, talking as loudly as ever, Finn is pretty much asleep in his chair, Tina has mascara running down her cheeks and keeps sniffing, and Quinn is jotting down things on a few sticky notes, putting them on the side of her computer screen.

It seems like she hasn't noticed your entrance.

"Good morning everyone," you greet, and everyone, (except Finn who's still sleeping) snaps their necks up and look at you, bewildered.

"Hello…" Quinn says, but it's more of a question. "Why are _you_ in such a chipper mood today?"

You raise an eyebrow at her, turn around in your chair, and turn your computer on.

In a matter of seconds, Quinn is by your side and on her knees, looking up at you with excitement. "It's totally because of the date, isn't it? Something happened, didn't it? Did you kiss? Did you sleep with her? Did you make your relationship official?"

You try your best to roll your eyes and appear grumpy, but it's so difficult today, given the fact that you're feeling ecstatic because out each of the things she listed, all of them are true.

You decide to give in and let the corners of your mouth quirk up slightly into a smile. "Don't you have work to be doing, Fabray?"

Quinn just eyes you, half suspiciously and half giddily, and slowly slides over to her desk. She sits down eventually, but it isn't long before she spins around in her chair to face you. "This isn't over. I want to know _everything_."

You smirk and raise your eyebrows, before turning around and facing your computer.

You love leaving her hanging.

**XXVI**

Once again, Quinn manages to make you do something you don't want to do, and you don't know how it happened.

(Although, the last time she made you do something you didn't want to do, you met Brittany and it changed how you see the world.)

(So, you are less than reluctant to do it this time.)

You're thinking that having Brittany and Quinn in the same room with you might be dangerous, because Quinn may spill something embarrassing about you, but you already agreed to have them both over for a movie, so there's no turning back now.

Quinn is the first to arrive. When you answer the door, she launches herself at you, wrapping you up in a giant hug that you by no means reciprocate. "Get off of me, Fabray," you snarl, pushing her away from you rather roughly.

That doesn't hinder Quinn, though, who hugs you again quickly, before sighing happily, taking off her cardigan. "I can't wait to see you act all love sick tonight, it's going to be _great_."

"_That's _what you're excited for?" you grumble, shutting the front door behind you as you lead her into the kitchen.

Quinn nods, reaching into her handbag and pulling out a camcorder. "I came prepared," she smirks, before pinching your cheek and skipping into the living room.

You roll your eyes and laugh fondly once she's out of earshot.

(You'd never admit that, though.)

**XXVII**

When the doorbell rings twenty minutes later, you try to ignore Quinn's excited shouts of _she's here _and you race to the front door before Quinn can get there first.

"Hey you," Brittany says when you open the door, smiling and giving you a quick kiss before stepping inside the house. "Is your friend here?"

You nod and point to the living room. "She's practically been spraying the whole house with excitement. She's happy I found someone."

She lifts an eyebrow and leans closer to you. "And is this _someone_ cool?"

You scrunch your face up in happiness and amusement and you kiss her again. "The coolest."

Brittany laughs and links your arm with hers, walking you into the living room.

Quinn's head snaps up when she hears the movement and her face breaks into the biggest grin you have ever seen. "Oh my gosh," she breathes, bolting up out of her seat and rushing over to you. "Hi." She grabs Brittany's hand and shakes it firmly. "We've met before. I'm Quinn Fabray."

Brittany nods, polite and friendly. "I remember," she smiles. As if she can sense your discomfort, she squeezes your arm a little tighter.

(Brittany can read you like a book.)

(No wonder she knew you liked her.)

Quinn bounces excitedly over to her bag, and you just stare at her as she pulls out about twenty DVD boxes. "I rented all the lesbian movies they had at the store," she informs you both, scratching the back of her neck.

You and Brittany just look at each other for a second, before bursting out laughing, almost falling to the ground because you're laughing so much.

(Your arms stay linked through it.)

**XXVIII**

"God," Quinn says in disbelief, shaking her head slightly. "I'd never thought I'd see the day where Santana Lopez is turned to mush."

You're halfway through this Swedish film with subtitles; you and Brittany cuddled up on one couch and Quinn sitting in your armchair.

Quinn has been making comments like this all night, and none of them are bothering you, which you are surprised at.

(It might be the fact that each time Quinn says something about you, Brittany takes your hand and squeezes it gently.)

(You think you've grown up too, though.)

"I'll take that as a compliment," you say, laughing slightly with your eyebrows raised.

Brittany places a kiss on your temple, making you squirm happily. "She's never been anything but sweet to me."

"She's only been like that since you came into the picture," Quinn says, fixing the blanket thrown across her lap.

You groan a little. "Can you both stop talking about me as if I'm not here?"

The other two just laugh and Brittany throws an arm across your stomach, hugging you even tighter to her.

Quinn just smiles. "No, I like this new Santana. She's not as grouchy as she used to be."

You know it's true. You used to hate all change in your life, and Brittany has been the biggest change of all.

(And also the _best _change of all, by far.)

"I think I'd like to hear some stories about this 'old Santana'," Brittany jokes, nudging your side a little.

You shake your head hard. "Absolutely not."

Quinn bursts out laughing. "Okay, well, once this woman in our office called Rachel started dating this guy in our office called Finn."

Brittany looks down at you. "Midget and Empire State Building?"

"That's them," you reply, nodding.

"Santana hated their relationship," Quinn continues. "They were always giving us examples of what PDA looked like and I always saw Santana at her desk, pretending to get sick. So, one day it got too much for Santana, and she went to the boss and told him that she caught Rachel and Finn having sex underneath Rachel's desk after hours, even though she didn't, and they both got suspended without pay for three months."

Brittany let out something between a laugh and a gasp. "Santana," she scolded playfully.

"They were so disgusting, Britt," you say, trying to defend yourself. "You'd do the same if you saw them."

Quinn chuckles softly and turns to Brittany with calm eyes. "Trust me, Brittany. She's been amazing ever since she met you. You must make her so happy."

You put your hands up, throwing your head back. "Okay, we get it, I love her. Let's move on."

There's silence in the room.

Uh oh.

_Shit_.

Realising what you've done, you snap your head up, and look at Quinn, who looks confused, then to Brittany, whose mouth is hanging open.

"Santana," she breathes. "Did you just…?"

You panic. "Yes, I-I mean no. I mean, ugh, I mean it, I just-"

Brittany just cuts you off with her mouth, as she has done before. You relax into the kiss until she pulls away.

"I love you too," she tells you, her face growing hotter and her smile growing wider. "I love you so much." She kisses you again and you relax into it.

(You couldn't possibly be happier than in this moment.)

When you both pull away, you place your hand on Brittany's cheek, feeling so god damned emotional.

You hear Quinn shift a little behind you, and you turn to look at her. "This really is the moment for the camcorder," she comments, her face oddly blank.

You let out something halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Not now, Q," you sniff, smiling at her.

Quinn stands up quietly, putting her bag over her shoulder and reaching for her cardigan. "I better go," she whispers, not wanting to ruin this intimate moment.

You look up at Brittany who's still looking at you with so much love.

_Love_.

**XXIV**

When you hear the front door click behind Quinn, Brittany shifts herself so she's on top of you on the couch. "You love me, eh?"

You close your eyes and let out a deep breath. "So much, you wouldn't believe."

She laughs, happiness and relaxation written all over her face. She gets off of you and pulls you to your feet, before picking you up effortlessly, swinging you around and carrying you out of the room and up the stairs. "You're so light," she says softly, entering the bedroom and placing you on your bed.

(Ugh. You're so in love.)

Brittany climbs on top of you and pins your arms above your head. She starts placing wet kisses on your neck and you giggle a bit, feeling so overjoyed.

With your arms above your head, she pulls your t-shirt off without a problem, and peppers kisses all along your torso, whispering _I love you _after each kiss.

You let out a needy groan.

Brittany looks up at you. "You ready?"

You nod, not trusting your words.

She moves down your body, kissing your stomach as she goes, and starts to unbutton your jeans, before proceeding to pull them down your legs, slow and gentle.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

You love her so much.

(And she loves you too.)

You just look up at the ceiling, tingles taking over each part of your body.

"Santana," you hear from on top of you. You look up and see Brittany smiling, her eyes full of lust and love.

_Love_.

"By the way," she says, putting her finger under your chin so your eyes lock. "I'm in love with you."

You smile back at her, tears forming in your eyes once again. "I am very much in love with you too, Brittany Pierce."

She moves down your body again and you let out an uneven sigh.

You love her too.

You love Brittany Pierce like nothing else.

(And you have no problem admitting that.)


End file.
